January 2011
118 posts
December 2010
114 posts
Reblog if you're not going to be with the person...
maybe next year, darling.
I
"my zipper won't stay up."
"too much package, dear."
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my last 4 (now 5) posts allude to the same Rihanna...
Goddamn
Rihanna
Rihanna’s career
Everybody in the music industry that supports either of the aforementioned.
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: OOH NAH NAH
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: WHAT'S MY NAME
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: WHAT'S MY NAME
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: OOH NAH NAH
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Three Words [dot] me
Three Words [dot] me →
CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK...
enticeandindulge:
noeydee:
captainstevexxx:
xhance:
scrambledbits:
johnhanos:
oh my.
This made me feel sick to watch but I had to reblog.
The only way that this could have been more surprising is if David Attenborough commenced minute and concise observation of this scene.
gvoy
LET DA BODIES HIT DA FLO!
HOLD MAH WEAVE HOLD MAH WEAVE
when did Kimbo Slice get a weave?
ALL I WANT TO DO IS TAKE PICTURES OF MY OWN...
and the batteries won’t stay in my camera.
damn you Brooks, all knocking it on the floor & shit.
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You know what's fun? Singing 'If I was President'...
if I was president-eh-eh-eh-eh-nt. i’d be elected on friday-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh. assassinated on saturday-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh. buried on sunday-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: beard.
meth0d-acts-deactivated20120223 asked: beard.
no shame.
that moment when you go to the bathroom by...
strawberryfieldsforev3r: YES
I’m glad it’s not only me. & for some reason I always end up w/ a picture of myself from said moment.
exhibit A:
Baby, I'm a firework.
One quick shot, & the show’s over.
Then there’s just debris everywhere.
I don't feel sick,
but I feel like throwing up on your shoes just to make some sort of point; you’ll gaze into me w/ disgust and confusion, & I might smirk; my skin will be cold, my eyes, unpredictable.
you don’t deserve this, & I’m not worth the rancid stench.
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